We are not talking chump change: The Georgia-based consulting firm, It's All Greek to Me, "offers a $600 seminar for women and their mothers to learn the basics about getting into a sorority." An additional $3,500 "buys unlimited access to sorority members who advise aspirants through every step." One such service in Texas, called Hiking in High Heels, has fees that run as high as $4,000 for on-call services during Rush Week.
There's further reporting of this nauseating trend in today's Wall Street Journal, if you can stomach it. I found it to be even more disturbing than the front-page news concerning troubles in Israel and the war in Ukraine. At least in those situations, important ideals are being challenged and fought for or against. But being in a sorority is little more than a bunch of grown-up Barbies seeking a group of friends to feel less alone on the playground. Is that really worth so much of their parents' hard-earned cash?
These would-be sorority sisters are in for a big shock upon graduation from their padded cocoons: The truth is, we are all alone, a fact to be accepted sooner rather than later, like, say, on your deathbed.
I finally understood it during childbirth. My husband stayed by my side the whole time, except when he left for a smoke or to get a snack or a cup of coffee, or to phone in to his job or maybe sit in the sun for awhile. (It was November, but unseasonably warm in Washington, DC that year.) I couldn't really blame him -- 23 hours of labor is surely a drag, but really it was mostly a drag just for me.
Don't children ever become adults anymore?
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